


The Thin Stream

by MumbleBee19



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Anxiety Disorder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:36:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9711392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MumbleBee19/pseuds/MumbleBee19
Summary: "Anxiety is a thin stream of fear trickling through the mind. If encouraged, it cuts a channel into which all other thoughts are drained."- Arthur Somers RocheJack has a panic attack. Bitty finds him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for major panic/anxiety attack. If detailed descriptions of panic attacks and the aftermath are upsetting or triggering for you, don't read this ;)
> 
> I don't own these characters, but boy do I love them!

He couldn’t breathe. God, oh God he couldn’t breathe, and it was happening again. Skin prickling hot and cold, Jack felt like steel bands were gradually tightening around his rib cage, crushing, crushing, and so painful! How did it hurt so much, every time? Heart racing, he gulped for air desperately, rocking himself, arms wrapped around his torso, fingers digging into soft cotton already soaked in cold sweat. He was going to be sick. Jack whimpered a little, curling further into himself. His hands and feet felt numb, face as well, and the sound of rushing water filled his ears.

Through the fog of pain and nausea and frantic terror, he heard a key rasping in the lock at the front door. Hinges swung open, grocery bags rustled, and feet hopped while shedding themselves of shoes. He could just barely hear Bitty calling his name before the blackness closed in, hyperventilation finally, blessedly, pulling him under.

Jack came to slowly. He felt like his eyelids weighed more than he bench-pressed, but he needed to open them so Bits knew he was back. With what felt like a herculean effort, he squinted up at the man cradling his head in his lap, stroking his damp hair back from his forehead, and softly calling his name.

Every muscle ached. His bones ached. And, oh, how is heart ached seeing the fear and relief warring on Bitty’s face. Jack hated that he put that look anywhere near a face meant for grinning, laughter, and light.

“Hey sweetheart,” Bitty murmured, still stroking. “Are you with me?”

Jack swallowed, opened his eyes a little bit wider, and nodded. He felt a thousand years old, and vulnerable as a newborn. It never failed to amaze him how utterly exhausting panic attacks were. He shivered, suddenly chilled in his sweat-soaked t-shirt and track pants.

“Can you get up, love? Let’s get you off this hard floor and into bed. But first, let’s sit up and I’ll get you some water.” At Jack’s nod of assent, Bitty cupped the back of his head in one strong hand and helped him get levered up slowly until Jack was slumped against the wall. Bitty quickly unzipped his hoodie, draping it backwards over Jack’s chest and arms, the heat of his body still trapped in the soft fibres.

Jack tilted his head back against the wall, let his eyes close again, and tried to channel the remaining shreds of his energy into staying semi-upright. Bitty hurried to the kitchen, banging the cupboard in his haste to fill a glass with tepid water. When Jack heard his footsteps approaching again, he lifted his gaze to his boyfriend, and managed to force out a raspy “thanks, Bits,” before lifting a shaky hand to help guide the glass to his lips.

A few sips later, Bitty pulled his sweater away from Jack and reached down to help him scoot himself up the wall until he was standing. Jack marveled a little at how strong Bitty was, despite his “perfectly normal!” stature, and deceptively slight build. Bon Dieu, but he loved this boy.

Bitty kept up a constant, quiet stream of words that washed over Jack like a comforting wave. He didn’t process anything Bitty said, his ears were still ringing too loudly, and it was taking all of his concentration to shuffle to the bed, but he didn’t need to understand. The gentle tone, the soft encouragement, and the warm endearments transcended language.

Once they reached the bedroom, Bitty perched Jack on the edge of the bed and knelt down to pull off his socks. His shirt went next, and when Bits pushed gently so that Jack toppled onto the mattress, it only took a slight lift of his hips so that the pants could be stripped away too. Bitty coaxed Jack’s exhausted body onto his side, arms pulled tight against his chest, hands curled under his chin like a child, and knees tucked up. Bitty lifted and arranged the blankets around Jack until he was cocooned in their warmth, and in the smell of Bits’ shampoo and the soft animal scent that lingered from their sleeping bodies. As Jack tried to relax, the covers lifted again, and a warm (and very naked) Bits curled up behind him, face pressed into the back of Jack’s neck, arm curving around until their hands tangled together and squeezed. 

Jack’s breath shuddered out, hitching a bit on the inhale. Bitty pressed closer, kissing his neck.

“Jack?” he queried.

“Mmm?”

“I love you baby. So much.”

Jack squeezed the smaller man’s hand tighter. “I love you too, Bits. I…” his voice catching, Jack swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, I…”

Bitty propped himself up on his elbow and leaned over Jack’s slumped shoulder, pressing kisses as he went.

“Nonsense, you. You have nothing to apologize for. Now. No more thinking. Now, it is time for cuddling and napping, and when we wake up, we can think if we have to.”

Bitty smacked a firm kiss to Jack’s cheek as punctuation to his statement. Jack felt his lips tremble into a shadow of a smile, and allowed his body to melt into the comfort of sleep, knowing Bitty had his back.


End file.
